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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29232897">these ghosts aren't real</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/emavee/pseuds/emavee'>emavee</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Dick Grayson and Jason Todd are Siblings, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson is a Good Brother, Gen, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd is Red Hood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:13:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,758</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29232897</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/emavee/pseuds/emavee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason remembers Dick dying. He remembers it vividly.</p>
<p>So why does no one else?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dick Grayson &amp; Jason Todd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>336</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Stay with me, Dickie. Hey.” Jason slaps Dick’s cheek lightly, causing his head to loll slightly as he groans. “Don’t even fucking think about closing your eyes. Get ‘em open. Hey.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t,” Dick mumbles. To his credit, he does try, but they slide back shut almost instantly. Shit shit shit. Not good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes you can,” Jason insists. “You still owe me, remember? From that bust last month? I'm cashing that favor in now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Remember.” Dick’s voice is slurred and thick around the blood that trails from the corner of his mouth and down his chin. He coughs harshly, spraying Jason’s face with it. “Sorry. ‘M probably not gonna be able to… to pay you back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean this is the nicest way possible, Grayson, but shut the fuck up. You’re fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick is decidedly </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> fine. He is, to put it simply, bleeding out on the ground. Jason can’t even quite figure out how it happened; one minute he and Dick were chatting on a rooftop and the next thing he knew Dick was tumbling down into a dumpster in the alley below, although not before smacking into a fire escape on the way down. Jason had pulled him out of the pile of soggy take-out containers and rotting food to discover the gash on his forehead and the brand new hole in his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gunshot wound. Jason has no clue where the sniper was, or where they are now, too busy trying to hold Goldie’s blood in his veins. He’s not doing a very good job.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you tell them I’m sorry?” Dick asks, breathless. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Jason snaps. Because one, there’s nothing for Dick to be sorry for right now. And two, Dick is going to be fine. Bruce and the bat-brat will show up to rescue his perfect ass and then they can move on from this shitty-ass night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And that I love them?” Dick grits his pink-stained teeth. He’s fading, fast, the blood pumping out under Jason’s hands beginning to slow as his heart does.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not your messenger boy, asshole,” Jason snarls. “Tell them yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He presses down even harder on the wound, but this time there is no whine or whimper of pain. Dick seems totally floaty, a dazed half smile on his face. He tries to focus on Jason’s face, but his eyes cross almost instantly, drifting away again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You too, Jay. Lov—” He gasps wetly, chest stuttering, and Jason knows that will be the last he hears from Dick tonight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <strike>
    <span>The last he hears from Dick… ever.</span>
  </strike>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dick, come on,” Jason says. He feels thirteen-years-old, back when Nightwing was so big and cool and invincible. Hell, Nightwing is </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> supposed to be invincible. This is Jason’s big brother. Nothing is supposed to be able to touch him. He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dick Grayson.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He’s—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason falls forward, pressing his forehead to Dick’s. “Please, Dick. You can’t do this. We need you. I need you. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick doesn’t answer him. Slowly, Jason pulls back slowly, searching. Dick stares up at the sky, where there are constellations hidden behind Gotham smog.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he breathes. This can’t be happening. “No, no, no. Dick. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dick.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wake up!</span>
  </em>
  <span> he wants to shout. He wants to shake Dick’s shoulders until he stops lazing around and snaps out of this. He wants this night to be over, for everything to just go back to normal. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This isn’t funny, Dick. Wake up!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Damn it!” he screams instead. His throat quickly starts to feel raw as he howls wordlessly, raging at nothing. He’s on his feet in an instant, slamming his fist into the brick wall. He doesn’t even feel the way it bruises down to his bones and splits his knuckles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stalks back over to where Dick’s body lies still on the ground. “Fuck you, Grayson,” he hisses, as shaking fingers pull Dick’s eyelids down to close his eyes. “Fucking fuck you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His sobs are silent, shaking his whole body and rocking through him down to his core. It hurts, deep in his bones and in his lungs and in his chest, and his blood boils, angry and scared and murderous. He’s going to figure out who did this and tear them apart with his bare hands. How dare they. How dare they take his big brother from him and think they can just get away with that. Dick Grayson has people who love him, who would die for him, who would kill for him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Except… except Dick wouldn’t want Jason to kill for him. Jason has no idea why, but his brother always saw something </span>
  <em>
    <span>good </span>
  </em>
  <span>in him, even when no one else did, not even Jason. Dick thought Jason was a good person—and he was wrong. Jason knows he was wrong, can feel the burning righteous anger in the pit of his stomach, can see the green already beginning to tinge his vision. The moment he gets within twenty feet of Dick’s murderer, he just knows it’s going to look like the Emerald fucking City.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick was a good person, but Jason isn’t. And he doesn’t know if he can hold onto this last shred of goodness that Dick saw in him without Dick to keep it alive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he whispers, bending over Dick’s body. “I don’t know if I can…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And that’s when he hears it: the quiet rumbling sound of the Batmobile’s engine, fast approaching. Jason is on his feet in an instant, chest heaving, unsure of what to do. In a matter of seconds, Batman and Robin are rushing into the alleyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce will be so devastated. Dick was his golden child, his only child for literal years before Jason showed up. Dick was the glue that held their stupid, dysfunctional family together, and when that cracks, Jason’s pretty sure Bruce will go too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Damian. He’s a brat and a demon but anyone with eyes can tell he fucking loves the shit out of Dick. Hell, Dick pretty much raised him before Bruce came back. Damian is only thirteen—this will absolutely devastate him, and Jason has no idea who’s going to be the one to pick up the pieces. Certainly not Bruce, with the way he’s bound to spiral. Dick was the only one who really understood this kid. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason doesn’t want to watch them grieve, doesn’t want to watch Dick’s dad and kid find him lying dead in a puddle of his own blood. And he doesn’t want their accusations. Maybe… maybe they would know better than to think Jason was the one to kill him, but he knows there would be at least some blame. Not aware enough, not fast enough, not skilled enough to save Dick. He doesn’t want to stick around to see their disappointment and anger and crumbling sadness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So he doesn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason takes off, firing a line and disappearing into the shadowy rooftops. Distantly, he hears Batman’s shout of “Hood!” behind him, but he ignores it, letting himself slip into autopilot until he’s crashing through the window into his safehouse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carefully, Jason locks the window behind him, but then he isn’t quite sure what to do next. He can’t see it properly in the darkness of the apartment, but he can feel cloying blood sticking to his skin and clothes. He can smell it too, the scent clinging heavily to his jacket. It slides down his hands, dripping slowly from his fingertips and onto the tile floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick is dead. His brother is dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason has lost people before, so the feeling is familiar—cold and hot all at the same time, with a terrifying numbness building in his gut and threatening to swallow him whole—but that doesn’t make it any less agonizing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He makes a beeline for the bathroom, suddenly desperate to get the blood off of him. He sheds his jacket first, hurling into the trash can next to the toilet. Most likely it's ruined, and he doesn’t think his Tide To-Go stain stick is going to be enough to remove probably five or six pints of blood from his clothes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands come next, scrubbing them under scalding water until they turn red and raw. Most of Dick's blood flows down the drain, but some of it lingers under his fingernails, stubborn as a bat and dried ruddy brown. Jason can't seem to get it out, no matter how hard he picks and scrubs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck.” He could be whispering or he could be yelling—it’s not like he can actually hear anything other than the rush of blood and ringing in his ears. This can't be happening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick is dead. His brother is dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God fucking <em>damnit.</em></span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He needs a drink.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the discowing fit slaps and you can't change my mind</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jason finds himself sitting on his kitchen floor, nursing his third or fourth bottle of beer and wishing he had something stronger. The tiles feel cool under his hand, but not quite grounding enough to make a difference. He tips his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. The buzz in his head dulls the racing, tight squeezing in his chest, but doesn’t fully eliminate it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he finally pries his eyes back open again, he jolts at the realization that there’s someone in his kitchen. Or, more accurately, </span>
  <em>
    <span>on </span>
  </em>
  <span>his kitchen. The counter specifically. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t take long to ID the intruder—who else would wear an outfit like that? Bright blue and gold, chest cut in a deep V. Dick’s hair was longer in those days, probably something to do with teenage rebellion. Or maybe because he didn’t have Alfred giving him disapproving looks every time his hair got long enough to fall into his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing here?” Jason asks. He doesn’t really have the energy for it, but he struggles to his feet, using the wall as leverage. He takes another swig of his beer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Discowing shrugs, glancing around his apartment. He looks completely at-ease perched on Jason’s countertop, legs crossed and fingers drumming softly against his knees. “Can’t a guy check in on his little brother without some sort of ulterior motive?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiles, so wide and carefree, and Jason’s chest </span>
  <em>
    <span>aches</span>
  </em>
  <span> because he hasn’t seen Dick look this carefree in so long. It isn’t often that Jason feels this sort of nostalgia for the time before his death. Usually he looks back and resents himself—and Bruce—for being so stupid and naive. But right now, he yearns for a time when he was young and Dick seemed so big and cool. Jason had been awestruck back then, not that he would ever admit it. He’d thought Dick could do pretty much anything, and do it with a smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright. You’ve seen me.” Jason spreads his arms wide. The beer sloshes in his hand. Dick frowns at the alcohol for just a moment before returning his gaze back to Jason, something soft and fond in his expression that makes Jason feel ridiculously small. “You’ve checked in, so you can go now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick fake pouts. “Aw, but I haven’t seen you in so long. You must have hit a growth spurt, huh? When did you get so tall? Oh, we should get burgers again. At that little diner you like. What do you say? You can pay, since Bruce still gives you an allowance.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason swallows hard. He remembers that diner. It had been terrible and way too greasy and one time Dick had gotten food poisoning from their chicken quesadillas, but Jason still insisted they go there every time they hung out. It had closed down while Jason was still dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go away, Grayson,” he mumbles. He doesn’t want to deal with this right now. He just wants to finish getting shitfaced and pass out on the couch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you say?” Dick asks again. He pushes gracefully off of the counter, landing on silent feet as he starts to creep towards Jason. “Who knows when we’ll get another chance. I have an off-world mission with the Titans next week. You gonna miss me, Little Wing?” He’s still grinning, teasing Jason even as red begins to bloom across the chest of his costume, rapidly staining the brightly-colored fabric. Jason takes an unconscious step backwards as Dick reaches out to try and ruffle his hair. His hand passes straight through Jason anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will you miss me?” he asks again. Jason feels sick, suddenly thinking the alcohol might have been a bad idea. The bottle slips from his fingers, shattering on the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that the hallucination will be gone by the time he opens them. “Go. Away.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick sighs. The sound is wet and Jason feels nauseous. “Alright, I’m leaving.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason chances peeling his eyes open, but Dick is still there. Right in front of him as he rummages through the pocket at his hip. He seems solid and real, down to the shine of his hair and the shadows of his eyelashes against his cheeks and the thin scar running along his chin. But Jason knows that if he reached out, his hand would pass straight through. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Call me,” Dick says, holding something out to Jason. Blood flows from his mouth, more than humanly possible. It makes his words nearly impossible to understand, but Ghost Dick doesn’t even seem to notice. “Whenever you need anything, even if you just want to chat.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason remembers this moment, the first time he ever met Dick, although the real memory has significantly less blood. The card with his cellphone number on it is so saturated with red that the writing is completely obscured.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason stands there, frozen, watching as his kitchen floor starts to fill up with blood. Dick just continues grinning at him, holding out the card. He doesn’t appear to be moving anytime soon. Hesitantly, Jason takes a step forward and reaches out to take the card. It’s not even Dick’s current number, not that Jason needs that one either. He has it memorized, not that he needs it anymore. Not that </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> needs it anymore. How long will Bruce keep paying his cell phone bills until someone else picks up when he dials Dick Grayson? Jason doesn’t want to think about it; it’s not like he ever called anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The card isn’t real, and Jason’s fingers close around nothing, but Dick’s smile still turns proud and satisfied. Jason feels so small and young, vulnerable and shaken. He hates it more than anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See you around, Little Wing,” Dick says, and this time when Jason blinks he disappears. Thankfully, he takes the blood with him, even if Jason still feels the phantom sensation of it clinging to his pants.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taking a deep, shaky breath, Jason shakes his head slowly and sets about cleaning up the shards of the fallen beer bottle. His hands tremble as he wipes at the stickiness on the tiles, but he does his best to ignore it. It was just a little grief- and alcohol-induced hallucination. No big deal. The Lazarus pit has messed with his head enough that he knows he’s not the most stable person on earth as it is. He needs to go the fuck to sleep. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tossing the glass into the trash, he spots his phone on the counter, an incoming call lighting up the screen. The contact isn’t saved, but he knows Bruce’s number by heart, and fuck no he’s not dealing with all </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> right now. All he’s gonna do tonight is make good on the second half of his plans and spend the next twelve to fourteen hours unconscious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay the fuck away, Grayson,” he mumbles as he collapses onto the couch, throwing an arm over his eyes and concentrating on slowing his breathing enough to stop his limbs from shaking. Discowing had better not haunt his fucking nightmares too.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jason wakes with a jolt to the sound of someone calling his name.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jay? Jay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Please wake up. You have to wake up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blinks, eyes slowly adjusting. His apartment is dark, and the time on the microwave switches from 3:02 to 3:03. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, thank God.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He spins immediately, jumping to his feet and reaching for the gun he keeps behind the couch cushions at the same time as he turns on the lamp next to the couch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was so scared.” Dick is right in front of him now, and Jason has no idea where he came from. He’s not dressed in his disco costume now, but an older version of the one Jason knows the best. The one with the blue stripes that extend down the arms and colors two of his fingers. And unlike DiscoDick, he looks absolutely devastated as he stares at Jason.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Jason grumbles. “Not again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry,” Dick whispers. He takes a stumbling step towards Jason, but barely even seems to notice his own wobbliness, too focused on Jason. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I should have been there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason swallows, hard. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s not real,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he reminds himself. He’s just dreaming. This is just a nightmare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I miss you so much, Jay,” he says, reaching out towards Jason’s face. His fingers pass through Jason’s cheek, but that doesn’t stop him from trying, even as he gets more and more upset with each failed attempt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It wasn’t your fault,” Jason reassures his hallucination. He’d never told Dick as much, but he always assumed he knew. Jason was mad at him for moving on, for accepting the Replacement into his life so quickly and easily, but he was never angry at Dick for his death. Bruce, maybe, but not really Dick. He wasn’t even on the planet when Jason was killed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I missed you so much. You know that right? Every single day.” Of course the hallucination would try and pull this shit. Dick… Dick loved Jason, sure. But it wasn’t the same as with Tim or Damian. He wasn’t Dick’s whole world the way those kids were. This is just what Jason wants to hear. Call it selfish, but yeah, he’d wanted people to mourn. He’d wanted the people who were supposed to love him to miss him so much that it hurt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(He doesn’t know if he feels the same way anymore, being on the other side of it now. Thinking about Dick makes him feel like he’s drowning, like he’s been buried alive all over again. He hates imagining Dick feeling this same way.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m back now,” Jason mumbles. “So. You don’t have to worry. You can move along.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe he really is being haunted. He doesn’t remember what happened after he died. Did he haunt Bruce like this? Did Dick ever see his ghost, shorter and brighter and missing the shock of white hair? Did he appear while Alfred was dusting, wandering around the Manor lost? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He really hopes he didn’t, because this is a real dick move, no pun intended. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry,” Dick says again. He keeps brushing his thumbs through Jason’s cheeks, as though he could wipe away any nonexistent tears. His own eyes are shiny and red. “Jay—” He chokes, and oh God, Jason recognizes that sound. He doesn’t have time to brace himself before Dick starts bleeding once again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The blood sprays onto Jason’s cheek as Dick tries to talk, the feeling horribly familiar. Dick panics as he tries to swipe the red away with no such luck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wha—” Dick trails off, gaze dropping to the sudden appearance of the hole in his chest. “Jay?” he whimpers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick hadn’t been there when Jason died, but Jason was right beside Dick when it was his turn to struggle and choke and feel himself grow colder and colder. Jason was right there, and he should have been able to do more. Dick wasn’t alone when he died; he could have been saved. He should have been saved.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s Jason who has something to apologize for. It’s Jason who should have done better.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Dickie,” Jason whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. He can hear his brother crying and choking, even when his hands come up and cover his ears to try and block out the sounds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least Dick’s ghost is considerate enough to be gone by the time Jason re-opens his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t sleep again that night.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t stop with two. Dick continues to haunt him, always showing up where he’s not wanted, which honestly is not so different from the way Dick was when he was still alive…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stands at the end of Jason’s bed, watches him while he’s on patrol. At one point, a minuscule Robin version of Dick that Jason only recognizes from a picture taped to the Batcomputer does a handstand on this kitchen table. That hallucination might have been the worst one, because he would not stop laughing, until he started to sound way too much like the Joker. He’s almost numb to the ghosts at this point. Almost.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, really, Jason isn’t surprised at all when he comes home to find Dick sitting on his couch like he fucking owns the place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the fuck do you want, Dick?” Jason snaps, moving to hang his jacket in the closet. His patience is worn even more thin by his continued failure to track down Dick’s killer. He’s out of leads, and failure buries itself deep under his skin. He can’t even do this one thing for Dick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, can’t a guy check in on his little brother?” Dick calls back. Jason sighs bone-deep. It’s only like the twentieth time one of the ghosts have said something similar. Could they not mix it up at all?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. You can’t.” He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired</span>
  </em>
  <span> of this. He just wants Dick to leave him alone, and stop fucking dying in front of him over and over again. Once was enough—once was more than enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick sighs, but doesn’t really seem bothered by it. “Why’d you bail on B and Dami?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason scoffs. “You’ll have to forgive me for not wanting to stick around for that shitshow.” He pops three Advil and plops into the chair across from Dick. He won’t leave Jason alone until he’s done with his whole spiel anyway, so Jason might as well get off of his feet while he waits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bruce has been calling you. So has Babs. Why didn’t you answer?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t want to hear it.”. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Even Alfred?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason falters at that one, because he had almost answered when Alfred called, but then he’d waited too long staring at the screen and the call had been missed. It’s the first time Jason has really regretted not having a voice mailbox set up. Alfred probably had information about the funeral, at the very least.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he sneers, because he doesn’t owe Hallucination Dick shit. “I don’t want to talk to anyone right now. Sue me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick frowns, having the audacity to look concerned. He leans forward so his elbows are resting on his knees. “Jason, we’re just worried about you. You completely disappeared the other night. Why are you shutting out the family?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re not a fucking family!” Not without Dick. His relationship with Bruce is rocky at best, and is practically nonexistent with the other kids. Hell, he’d tried to kill both Tim and Damian. Dick was the only one who really sought Jason out and seemed to want him there. He’s the only one Jason felt almost comfortable calling his brother. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick sucks in a sharp breath before glaring at Jason. “I know you and B are complicated—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not complicated,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “They’re not my family. Get that through your head.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But they could be,” Dick says softly. “If you just gave it a try. Don’t shut them out, Jay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Is this where they are now? Dick’s ghost trying to convince him to seek out the rest of the Bats to deal with his grief? Or maybe he’s mad because Jason never passed on his final message. But really, Jason didn’t think it was necessary. The brats knew Dick loved them. It was impossible not to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go away, Dick.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick sighs. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on with you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At least try to visit more often, if you won’t talk to me. I know Alfie misses you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I told you to </span>
  <em>
    <span>get the fuck out.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” Dick huffs. “I can tell where I’m not wanted.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason can’t help but snort. “You sure about that?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick leaves without another word, thankfully without bleeding everywhere for once. Something in Jason’s chest is impossibly tight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He misses </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dick.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The real Dick. He misses the Dick who was annoying and stupidly perfect and Jason’s brother. Dick, who he really wanted to punch in the teeth sometimes but he would also die for in a heartbeat. He’s so fucking tired of seeing his brother everywhere, just to be reminded that he’s actually gone, and Jason will never actually see him again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Some part of him wants to say fuck all the consequences and steal Dick’s body away to a Lazarus pit. Unfortunately, he loves his brother too much to do that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck. He’s tired of grieving. He’s tired of hurting. He’s tired of dead end after dead end in the hunt for Dick’s murderer. Maybe he could think clearer if he didn’t wake up every night to a new hallucination. Dick haunts him every single day, and Jason just wants it to </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop</span>
  </em>
  <span> before it drives him insane. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Is this what you wanted, Dickie?” Jason grouses as he pulls up to the Manor on his bike. “I’m visiting. Will you finally leave me alone now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He has no plans to actually see anyone, but if he knows Bruce, Dick’s grave will be in their private cemetery plot, right by Thomas and Martha and Jason’s own tombstone. Maybe if he says goodbye to his brother one last time, he’ll finally leave him alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Closure. That’s today’s goal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And to get rid of the fucking ghosts that keep following him everywhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason climbs the hill, weaving through trees and neatly-kept topiary as he treks towards the cemetery. Should he have brought flowers? No, that’s stupid. Maybe he could leave that twenty bucks he owes Dick from that post-patrol breakfast last month. That’s a bit more fitting for them anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Master Jason?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He should have known better than to think he could get away without seeing anyone. He’d figured Bruce and the kids would just let him be if they spotted him, but he didn’t account for Alfred, who is apparently out tending to the gardens.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Over to his left, ghost Dick laughs at his misery as Jason halts in his tracks. Jason might think of himself as a badass, but Alfred is the only person who can still make him feel like a chastised thirteen-year-old. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Alfie.” He turns, watching warily as Alfred approaches him, taking off and setting aside his gardening gloves. He tries for a smile, but it feels ridiculously phony. Most likely Alfred is out here keeping busy, possibly to distract himself from his own grief. Jason’s heart twists a little at the thought. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>hates</span>
  </em>
  <span> seeing Alfred sad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not that I am not pleased to see you, my dear boy, but what are you doing here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason swallows around the lump in his throat. “I. I just wanted to visit Big Bird. And, um. I guess get any details about the funeral. If you haven’t had it already.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred stares at him, brows pinched. “The funeral?” he echoes. “Master Jason, has something happened?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He steps forward, hands coming to rest on Jason’s shoulders. Jason must look awful, because he reaches up to gently cup Jason’s cheek. Jason can’t help but lean into it, some part of him aching for the comfort. So many times Dick’s ghosts have tried this same motion, only to pass straight through Jason’s skin. He didn’t realize how much he craved that gentle touch until now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then his words sink in and Jason jerks out of Alfred’s grasp. “How do you not know? Did Bruce seriously not tell you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me what?” Alfred demands. “What is going on, my boy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dick is dead,” Jason spits, fury burning in every corner of him. Green tinges his vision.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred takes a staggering step backwards, eyes going wide. His lips tremble as he shakes his head. “He cannot… Master Bruce would…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He died in my arms, Alfie. He bled out and I couldn’t save him. Five days ago.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You must be mistaken,” Alfred says, but he doesn’t sound so sure. Jason has never heard him like this. Alfred doesn’t get shaken, not visibly at least. “Come. Let’s go inside and we can get this all sorted out. Please, my dear boy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he swallows, it feels like his throat is filled with broken glass, but he lets Alfred and his anger at Bruce guide him towards the house. Why would Bruce keep this from the rest of the family? Whatever he’s got planned can’t be anything good. Jason should have known better than to think that Bruce would handle losing his Golden boy in a healthy manner. If Bruce makes some bad decisions on a normal day, losing Dick must have pushed him into the realm of totally fucked up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well fine. If Jason has to be the one to set him straight, then so be it. That’s his role in this batshit “family” anyway, isn’t it, to argue with Bruce?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce and Damian are in the middle of eating lunch at the dining room table, looking as casual as Damian and Bruce ever get. Damian spots them first, glaring at Jason over his sandwich. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Todd,” he growls. “Why are you here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce looks up from his newspaper at that, and Jason feels a little bit of pride at how shocked he looks. “Jason? What are you doing here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason glares at him. How are they just sitting here eating, when Dick died less than a week ago? He knows Bruce is pretty quick to move on when it comes to his perfect little soldiers slipping up, but five days is nothing. Not for Dick. Not for the golden boy. Not for the one person who held them all together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he’d definitely expected </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>more from Damian. That’s Dick’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>kid,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he’s just sitting there scarfing down cucumber sandwiches? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unless… unless somehow Bruce managed to keep this from Damian too. Why is he so scared for the others to know? Is it because he knows that without Dick, there is no </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>? There is no family? That he’ll lose Jason and Damian and probably Cass and Tim and Duke too? Or maybe he thinks that if he admits that Dick is dead, it’ll be too real. Maybe he’s actually deluded himself into thinking that Dick is still happily swinging around Bludhaven.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, too bad. Jason isn’t going to let him get away with it. It’ll wreck the kids, and probably Alfred too, but they deserve to know. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m here to see Dick,” he says, staring straight at Bruce. Talk your way out of this one, old man. And technically he is, that is if you count Dick's grave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Grayson’s coming?” Damian asks, turning to Bruce. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Okay, Jason feels a little bad about that one, but it’s not like the kid won’t be crushed no matter what.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Bruce just blinks at him. “Dick is coming?” He turns to Alfred. “Did I know that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred shakes his head. “I’m afraid I am confused as well. Now, Master Jason, what was all that about a funeral before?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why don’t you tell me, Bruce.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce stares at him, having the gaul to actually look <em>worried.</em> “Jason, I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. Are you feeling okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grits his teeth. “I feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Except for the fact that my </span>
  <em>
    <span>brother</span>
  </em>
  <span> is </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And you’re pretending it didn’t even happen! Newsflash, Bruce, you can’t just ignore this and hope it—Ow!” He turns to see Damian at his side, a needle in his arm as the kid collects a blood sample. “What the hell, brat? We’re upstairs. Do you just keep that on you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am always prepared, Todd. Unlike you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?” he grits out, resisting the urge to deck Dick's favorite kid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Damian glares at him. “Clearly you are delusional. Either you are under the influence of some sort of drug or else you have finally gone mad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, Damian. I’m really sorry, but—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I talked to Grayson this morning, Todd. We are going to see a movie this weekend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s impossible.” Jason blinks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not possible. It can’t be. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>saw</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dick die. There was blood on his jacket, on his clothes, on his hands. Except… Dick’s ghost is sitting at the table right now, in his usual seat beside Bruce. He’s bleeding all over a bowl of fruit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe they’re not ghosts. Maybe Jason isn’t just grieving and sleep deprived. Maybe…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here.” Damian shoves a phone against his ear, breaking him out of his stupor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hello? Damian?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> That’s Dick’s voice. He pulls the phone away and no, it isn’t a recording or a voicemail. It’s Dick. Talking to him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alive.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason hangs up the phone and shoves it back into Damian’s hands. “I—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” Bruce asks, rising from his seat. He’s looking at Jason with… with concern. With </span>
  <em>
    <span>pity.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jason feels like his whole body is on fire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have to go,” he blurts out and the next thing he knows he’s once again running from Bruce and Damian, ignoring it completely when all three of the Manor’s residents call after him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Go away,” Jason says, hours later when his window slides open and a person crawls inside his apartment. He’s lying on his back on his couch—has been for what must be hours now, ignoring the hallucinations that still feel a bit too real—but he doesn’t have to look to recognize the familiar nearly-nonexistent weight of Dick’s footsteps. It feels just like all the times he was talking to his hallucinations, even though this time he knows better. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, he is so stupid. He should have known better. He can’t even remember why he and Dick were ever on the roof. He never found a single hint as to who shot Dick. There wasn’t even a speck of blood left at the scene. Of course none of it was real.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will if you really want me too,” Dick says, “but first you might want to think about taking this.” He holds out a syringe and a familiar small vial. “Test results came back after you ran off. Fear gas, new strain. B and Tim whipped this up for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason snatches it from his hands, grumbling instead of offering up any sort of thank you, although he is a bit grateful for it. He’s having significantly fewer hallucinations now that he’s aware that he’s been under the influence of something, but he could still do without the shakiness and unease that accompany fear gas.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great.” He rolls up his sleeve and prepares the needle. “You can go now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick makes no move to get up, just stares at Jason with fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>concern</span>
  </em>
  <span> all over his stupid face. It makes Jason want to squirm, even if some part of him kind of wants to sob that his brother is alive again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You want to talk about it?” Dick asks, sitting down in Jason’s chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” He wants Dick to go away so he can put this whole stupid thing behind him and never think about it again ever. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know,” Dick fiddles with his hands in his lap, not really looking at Jason, “it’s not like I don’t know how you’re feeling.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ve all had bad fear gas experiences,” Jason snaps. “You’re not special.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean yes,” Dick says, a wry grin on his face, “I’ve definitely seen all of you dead at some point while tripping on fear gas, but that’s not what I meant.” He looks up, steady and serious as he matches Jason’s glare. “It’s not the same, it wasn’t really hallucinations, but I used to see you everywhere. The worst was when I would save people on patrol or in the field and for a second I would see your face and I could think ‘I did it. I got there on time.’ And then I would blink and my little brother would still be dead. I would see you in random people on the street, mixed up Tim for you multiple times when he was Robin...” Dick sucks in a breath, long and shaky. “I would have done anything to have you back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what?” Jason snaps, unable to stop himself. He’s still on-edge from the fear gas and the embarrassment that makes him feel too warm. “Then I came back as a murderer and the fucking family disappointment?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick sighs. “I’m not going to pretend like I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy</span>
  </em>
  <span> with what you were doing when you first came back to us, but that doesn’t change the fact that I am thankful every single day to have you back. Maybe I didn’t have my baby brother back the way I remembered him, but you were </span>
  <em>
    <span>here.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You were breathing, and in the end, that’s all that mattered to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want me to say here, Grayson? I’m glad you’re not dead. There, okay? You satisfied now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not like he’s just going to sit here and spill his guts and tell his brother that yeah, actually, even though there’s still something inherently nervous and scared thrumming in his veins from whatever he’s drugged up on, he’s never been more relieved in his entire life. He’s not going to tell Dick that it felt like the world was ending when Jason thought he was dead, that it felt like losing the only family he had left. He’s not going to tell Dick that he’d been dreaming of digging up his body and somehow hauling him halfway across the world to the nearest Pit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason’s supposed to be cool, aloof. He’s supposed to linger on the outskirts of the family and occasionally get a beer with Dick or play backup when the runts get themselves into too much trouble. He’s not supposed to care this much. Dick shouldn’t be this important to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Loving people is stupid. It’s careless and irresponsible. Jason never wants to do it again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Dick says as he rises from his seat and crosses to sit on the couch beside Jason. “Okay, you don’t have to talk about it. I just wanted to make sure you know.” He takes Jason’s wrist and for a moment Jason thinks he’s going to actually hold his hand or some shit, but instead he presses Jason’s fingers to his pulse point. Jason can feel his heart beating, slow and strong and steady. It’s embarrassing, how much weight lifts off of his shoulders. “I’m alive, Jay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” Jason mumbles. He hates that Dick knows exactly what he needed. He hates thinking about how three years ago, all Dick would have wanted was this same quiet reassurance, and instead Jason has just brought pain and violence and vitriol. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick nods. “Okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Jason repeats.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They sit there in semi-awkward silence, neither of them daring to pull away before the other is ready. Jason waits for the lingering effects of the fear gas to fade, keeping his fingers curled around Dick’s wrist the entire time. At some point Dick leans against him and Jason goes too, letting Dick wrap an arm around his shoulder and tug him in closer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason feels small next to his brother despite his larger physical size, but for once he doesn’t really mind. He’s tired and worn down and so relieved it feels like all of his strength has been leached out of his body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick’s choked off </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Love you”</span>
  </em>
  <span> echoes around in his head. That was just a hallucination but… but he’s pretty sure the real Dick would say it too. He’s pretty sure his brother loves him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I love you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jason thinks, throat tight. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re my big brother.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m really glad you’re alive,” he says instead, forehead buried against his brother’s shoulder, face hidden away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me too,” Dick whispers, his own face pressed to the top of Jason’s head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not quite an “I love you,” and maybe one day they’ll say the real thing, but in this moment, it feels close enough.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>shoutout to everyone that figured out that the last dick in chapter two was the real one</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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